


Virtue

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 07:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18027539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto reveals a secret.





	Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

As soon as they step through the door, Noctis knows that something’s wrong. Prompto looks around the apartment with bated breath, blue eyes wider than usual, like he’s expecting Ignis to jump out and scare him. “Ignis is working late at the Citadel tonight,” Noctis provides, assuming that’s what Prompto’s looking for. Prompto nods quickly. He stays to double check when Noctis locks the door behind them. Gladiolus has a key, but he doesn’t pop in as much as Ignis does. They’re alone, which is what Prompto asked for. 

A part of Noctis is hoping they’re going to have _that_ talk. The one that’s been bubbling up and lingering beneath his tongue ever since their final year of high school, when Prompto came back from break even hotter than usual, and they got that little bit closer. They’re _so_ close now. They lean on each other when they play video games, steal bites of each other’s food, and Noctis’ face is in Prompto’s camera more than any other. He’s nervous for it, but excited at the same time, his stomach all in knots and butterflies. He follows as Prompto wanders into the living room. 

Prompto flops onto the black couch, bag hitting the floor. Noctis sits down next to him. Noctis thinks of breaking the ice—of asking how the first day of the new semester’s been, what Photography classes are like in college, something easy like that. They’re both still in uniform, for the same school but different courses. They can’t just take what each other’s taking anymore. But Prompto looks like this moment’s really important to him, so Noctis holds his tongue.

Prompto sucks in a deep breath. Noctis resists the urge to put a hand on his knee and preemptively say _I feel the same way._ For a few seconds, he just watches Prompto chew his bottom lip, which makes him look even more kissable than usual. When he blushes so softly, just a faint pink over pale cheeks, it really makes his freckles stand out. Noctis _loves_ Prompto’s freckles. But he’s come to love most things about Prompto, so that’s no surprise. 

Prompto tucks a lock of blond hair behind his ear, obviously just fidgeting and stalling for time, and then he lets out a nervous laugh and says, “So we’re still friends.”

Noctis blinks. “Still?”

“Yeah... like, I’m really glad you still hang out with me even after we’ve graduated, y’know?” He turns a dazzling grin to Noctis, which hits Noctis in the stomach, because how could Prompto ever think that would end after high school? “We’re not stuck in the same classes every day, so...” Prompto lamely shrugs.

There’s a lump in Noctis’ throat. “Of course. We’re _good_ friends.” Maybe more than that. Hopefully. Soon. Prompto nods like he’s trying to convince himself. Noctis is starting to think he read the situation all wrong. 

Looking away again, Prompto mutters, “Yeah... that’s... why I can ask you this.” He pauses, left hand drifting for the wristband above his right one. He always wears it. He toys with the white-green stripes before shakily continuing. “I know you won’t judge me, Noct... at least, I... I hope not... but I want to join the glaives, and... they have to go through physicals...”

Noctis is so lost. He had no idea Prompto wanted to join the glaives. That could explain some of the nerves, but not all of them—Noctis wouldn’t judge someone for that. Actually, thinking of Prompto in glaives’ garb is kind of cool, though he’d rather Prompto never faced any danger. Prompto blurts out: “I gotta ask you a favour. Like, a really, _really_ big one.”

Noctis ask, “What?” without hesitation. Even if Prompto wants Noctis to use his title to get his friend into an elite program or something like that, he’ll probably do it. Prompto sucks in another long breath. When he looks back at Noctis, his eyes are full of _fear_.

“You won’t hate me, right? Promise?”

Noctis open his mouth to say he could _never_ hate Prompto, but Prompto rolls right on, “Like, remember when we were talking the other day, about those refugees on the news that were coming in from outside the city, and you said it didn’t matter where someone was from...”

Even more lost, Noctis is starting to get worried. Prompto’s usually a ball of bouncy sunshine, and Noctis has only seen him serious a handful of times, and almost never this anxious. Then Prompto stops talking all together and peels off his jacket.

The jacket slumps down onto the floor, and Prompto pulls out his tie. One by one, he undoes the buttons of his crisp white button up—the sort of shirt he’d never wear outside of school. This is something Noctis has wanted for a long time, but it’s not going at all like he expected. He finds himself blushing and looking away, even though he’s dying to know what Prompto looks like _naked_.

He sees the shirt drape over the coffee table in his peripherals. Then there’s a hushed noise like rustling sheets. Another long moment, and Prompto quietly asks, “Noct... please look at me.”

Noctis does. And he does a double take, because it’s _different_.

Prompto looks _great_ shirtless. Short and lean, he has the faint outlines of all the muscles he’ll need to be a glaive, something Noctis would hungrily devour if his attention weren’t pinned elsewhere. What really catches his eye isn’t Prompto’s peach skin, but the pure-white, feathered wings that bracket it. 

Prompto has _wings_. They look like angel wings, straight out of a fantasy game or show, except not wide or towering, just trim, well-proportioned things that reach out on either side of him. The layers and layers of white feathers look like they could be a dove’s, except Noctis’ mind keeps screaming _angel_. Then Prompto pushes down his wristband and turns it over, showing the tattoo that Noctis has only had glimpses of before. It’s a barcode, and nowhere near as awe-inspiring as the wings. They’re what Noctis stays focused on. Prompto haltingly explains, “I... I’m from the Empire, Noct.” His voice quivers, breaking, but he presses on, “I-I’m not working for them or anything! But... I was experimented on when I was young, I guess... my parents broke me out, and... took me here... I’m completely loyal to you, I swear!”

Noctis subconsciously nods. He never doubted that. Not for a moment. Prompto goes on. 

“I can fold them back and hide them, but... if I’m poked and prodded, I’m, uh... not the best at controlling them, and... i-if the crown found out... I mean, officially... and my parents...”

Noctis still doesn’t have any words. Prompto trails off, leaning down to reach into his bag, and Noctis watches the wings shift as he moves, entranced. When Prompto reemerges, he has a knife in his hands. That finally draws Noctis back. 

Prompto holds the knife out, end first, to Noctis. He tells Noctis with both fire and fear in his eyes, “I... want you to cut them off. My parents won’t, and I can’t reach there myself. _Please_.” 

Horror abruptly filters into Noctis’ shock. One minute he’s discovering some glorious art, and the next, he’s asked to mutilate it. He tells Prompto, “I can’t.”

Prompto bites his bottom lip. He probably expected that response. But he gestures the knife forward again anyway. “Noct, _please_. You’re the only one I can trust...”

“Prom, I can’t do that...”

“But... I... I can’t keep hiding them...”

“So don’t.”

“Noct...” 

Noctis sets a hand on Prompto’s wrist, right over the barcode. He lowers that hand down, the knife going with it. He couldn’t cut any part of Prompto, not ever. Prompto looks desperate, and Noctis speaks slow and strong for that, the sort of tone he saves for the rare royal command. “Prompto, you’re my _best friend._ You’re the _prince’s_ best friend, so the Crown will know at some point, and it’ll have to accept you. I accept you. You don’t have to hide this.” He wishes Prompto hadn’t—the idea that Prompto’s been agonizing over such a heavy secret for so long makes him sick to think about. He tries to make it better, make it lighter, by noting, “Hey, and that could even be an asset in the glaives. You don’t need to waste energy warping—you can fly.”

Prompto lets out a choked, humourless laugh. “Don’t know how, dude. I’ve never used them.”

They’re going to have to change that. Noctis is already entertaining daydreams of Prompto flying him halfway across Insomnia. Gladiolus would have a field day over the security of that, and Ignis wouldn’t like it, but it’d probably be worth it. At least some of the tension seems to melt away from Prompto—he must see that Noctis isn’t angry. 

Noctis finds himself asking, almost reverent, “Can I touch them?” 

Prompto looks surprised but nods. 

Reaching out, Noctis brushes his fingertips over the feathers at the bottom. It’s easily the softest thing he’s ever felt. Then he moves upwards, ruffling them lightly, and Prompto squirms and lets out a snort like he’s being tickled. 

Withdrawing and unable to keep the smile off his face, Noctis announces, “They’re gorgeous.”

Prompto’s grown into a half-smile. “...Really?”

“Yeah. I love ‘em.”

Prompto laughs nervously.

Noctis insists, “I’m serious. They’re super cool! Hey, forget the glaives; just skip right to Crownsguard. Then you can be my very own guardian angel.”

Prompto blushes a vivid pink. He drops the knife onto the pile of his clothes. Then he lurches forward, and the next thing Noctis knows, he’s being enveloped in a tight, warm hug that has his whole body singing. In a chocked voice, Prompto mumbles against his shoulder, “You’re the best, Noct. I really... I love you, man.”

Noctis _thinks_ Prompto means it the way he wants. So he answers, “I love you too.”

Prompto lingers deliciously long, and when he pulls back, he’s grinning like a cat. Noctis risks ducking forward to nuzzle his nose, not quite having the nerve to kiss him just yet. It’s ridiculous, but Prompto nuzzles him back. 

“Can I really?”

“Hm?” Noctis hums.

“Be your guardian angel? Because I’m dead serious. I wanna get an official uniform and everything, so I can always be by your side.”

Noctis really kisses him, which seems to be just the answer Prompto was looking for.


End file.
